Family
by someone's mistress
Summary: Emily is a first class passenger on the Titanic, trying to keep control of her life, as well as keeping her sister from telling their father a dangerous secret...
1. Chapter 1

**A/N—Hey, everyone. This is my first fic that I'm putting up here, so please don't just be nice. If you review, which I hope you do, be honest and give me as much feedback as possible. Don't worry, I can take it. Thanks!**

Emily Winslett-DeJohns could barely stand the conflicting emotions within her as she surveyed her first-class stateroom. It was beautiful, she had to admit. Lush, oak-paneled walls covered in brass fittings. Delicate, beautiful furniture. It looked like a palace. And she had nothing to complain about, regarding where she was. The R.M.S. Titanic was luxurious and, naturally, huge. She imagined that all of the passengers felt the same buzz that she did. This was the ship's maiden voyage, after all. No, it wasn't the ship that had her going. It was mainly the way that her family was reacting to it that bothered her.

Anne, her frivolous younger sister, floated and danced around the sitting room and exclaimed that she had never been happier in her life. She kept saying that it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen, which might have meant more to Emily if she didn't say this every time she was in new surroundings. Emily had to keep reminding her that they would soon be off the ship and to not get too attached. Anne had a tendency to fall in love with things and then pout endlessly over them when they were taken away, much to Emily's annoyance.

Emily's father, Edward DeJohns, was a completely different issue. He seemed only mildly impressed by the grandeur of the vessel. Edward had already made a list of "suggestions" for Mr. Andrews, the ship's builder. The items on the list were nitpicky, as well as offensively worded, and Emily hated the thought of Father presenting that list to the poor man. Emily had met him at a party almost a year ago, celebrating the launch of the Titanic, and she had thought that he was a very kind, sweet person. In any case, she had seen him writing in a notebook that morning, and she was sure that he was compiling notes of his own.

Emily was quite overwhelmed, trying to deal with her family and their eccentricities. She decided that the best option, to take her mind off of things, would be to unpack the massive pile of trunks before her. She counted two trunks for Father, two more, a mountain of hatboxes and a traincase for Anne, two smaller ones for her brother, Zachariah, and…nothing for her. She surveyed the heap of luggage again, but it was obvious that hers was really missing. She just sighed, assuming that it would arrive eventually, and began on Zachariah's clothing.

A sharp rap came on the door, and she opened it to find a young steward with her trunks on a cart.

"I'm extremely sorry, miss. I believe these were taken to the wrong room. Are you Miss Winslett-DeJohns?" He had a sincere, mild face, and it didn't escape Emily that he was staring at her admiringly. She gave him a pleasant smile and nodded understandingly.

"It's quite alright. With so many passengers to attend to, mistakes are inevitable." She meant it by way of polite conversation, but the steward blushed, stammered something in agreement, and hurried away without waiting for any tip.

She laughed a bit to herself. She had to admit that she was flattered by the steward's behavior, and went to the mirror to study herself. Yes, she supposed she was pretty enough. Smoky blue eyes set in a round face. Long, dark blonde hair that curled a bit at the ends. A few years ago, she mused, she had been downright chubby, but she had emerged into a curvaceous young woman around the time she had turned fourteen. Ever since then, young men had stuttered in her presence, and older men had stared at her in restaurants and on the streets. She couldn't quite understand why, since she wasn't nearly as pretty as Anne.

Just as she thought it, Anne swept into the room. She smelled like cold sea air and expensive Parisian perfume. She had a sparkly pink clip in her near-black hair and their six-year-old brother, Zachariah, in tow. Glancing at Emily, who was still looking in the mirror, she chuckled and opened one of her trunks.

"Ahh, Emily. It appears that vanity is your only true vice." She spoke in a mocking, singsong-y tone that Emily had long since learned to ignore. She rolled her eyes and went back to Zachariah's trunk while Anne picked through hers. After a few minutes of silence, Emily turned to the younger girl.

"You know, Anne, your trunks aren't going to unpack itself. And I'm not doing it for you. You're far too old for that."

Anne let out a quiet groan. "Why don't we have any servants? All of my friends at school have people who do this stuff for them."

Emily shrugged. "Father doesn't like having any servants when he travels. You know him. He would feel like he was paying someone to pry into our lives. Besides, it's good for you to do a bit of manual labor. Lord knows you lounge about enough as it is. Imagine how little you'd do if someone else cleaned your room and made your bed." Anne mumbled under her breath, but finally began unpacking in earnest.

Emily was just finishing Zachariah's second trunk when another knock came on the door. She found herself face-to-face with a very handsome, 19-year-old Irishman. It was a face that she knew very, very well and was overjoyed to see, but she nonetheless removed the involuntary smile from her face and took in his steward's uniform and professional demeanor calmly.

"Can I help you, sir?" They had played this game before, but they both still fought to keep their smiles hidden.

"Yes, miss. I believe you can. I was sent by the Quartermaster. I need to inspect your lifebelts. May I come in?" His Irish brogue was crisp and polite, but his hazel eyes sparkled mischievously. Emily smirked at his request.

"Of course. My father isn't here right now—" eliciting a smile from them both, "but I believe it would still be proper for you to come in." The tension between them was mounting with every second, and Emily's hands were almost shaking.

He followed her into her bedroom, and she made sure that Anne wasn't watching as she quietly shut the door. Finally alone, the two of them fell into a deep, passionate kiss.


	2. Chapter 2

"What are you doing here?" Emily gasped between kisses. "Do you know how much trouble you'd be in if you were caught? You're impersonating a White Star Line employee!" She pulled back and glared at his impish smile. "Darling, you're a stowaway. They used to display people like you in town squares." She poked his shoulder angrily to emphasize her point.

Her annoyed concern only served to widen his grin. "That why I'm not American, Em. The Irish just disown their children. Very clean, no public humiliation. And in any case, no one's getting me for impersonating anything. I _am_ a steward. I signed on two days ago, when one of the old stewards quit and went home." Her confusion was so adorable that he couldn't resist stealing another kiss. "Poor unlucky blighter," he mumbled. "Isn't going to see Titanic on her first go-round."

Emily suddenly gasped as the door began to open. Pushing the young man away, she turned to the door to find Anne staring in at them. _Damn it,_ Emily thought. _She's suspicious._

Instead of saying anything about the situation, Anne asked about the lifebelts. However, the sarcastic tone of her voice made it very clear that she knew exactly what had just happened between her sister and the young man.

He cleared his throat guiltily and rocked on his feet. "Oh, yes. The, uh, the lifebelts. Yes. Good lifebelts. You're…you're all set. For lifebelts." His eyes darted to the door. "Excuse me. I have to leave. I have other…lifebelts. Um, other rooms. They need me to check. Big ship and all. Excuse me." He rushed out of the room, almost bumping into Anne, and closed the hallway door hard.

As soon as he was gone, Anne closed the bedroom door and turned to her older sister. "Well! What exactly was that, Emily? When did you start kissing strange men?" She paused for a moment and added, "When did you start kissing men?"

Emily ignored the second question. The fact that she was known as something of a shrew among eligible Philadelphia bachelors had no bearing on this. "He's not a strange man. You think I would kiss anybody? I've known him for a long time."

"Well, then, who is he?" Anne placed her hands on her hips and glared. It was obvious that she wanted a straight answer out of her sister, and Emily had no choice but to oblige.

"His name is Braedan Kael. I met him about a year ago at our house. Don't you remember him?" Anne shook her head. "You might've been at school, then. In fact, I'm almost sure you were. Our schools have different spring breaks, don't they? Anyway, he was our cook, briefly. He wasn't very good, but we were desperate at the time. We were rather smitten with each other from the moment we met. It took him a while to find me after he was fired, but he pieced it together from comments by the other servants. He finally came to visit me at school and we…well, we fell in love." She felt rather odd being so honest with Anne, but her sister needed to understand the situation if she was going to keep it a secret.

"How old is he, Em?"

_Oh, God. The age question._ "He's nineteen," she mumbled, already guessing how her sister would react. She was right.

"Nineteen? NINETEEN? That's far too old for you! You're only fifteen!"

Emily felt herself getting defensive. "Well, you kissed an eighteen-year-old, and you're thirteen. At least I'm having my coming-out in a year. You still have a lifetime to go. Besides, I've known Braedan for much longer than you knew Nicholas Larabie. I feel a bit more justified in my actions." She hated that she had to use that one morsel of sin against Anne. It seemed so low, such a pathetic attempt. To hide her embarrassment, she turned her back and pretended to arrange things on her dressing table.

"But, Emily…he isn't of our social class!"

So…that's what this was about. She didn't care about Emily's safety or well-being. She only cared that Braedan wasn't as rich as them. Emily felt her embarrassment melt away into white-hot anger. Her hand tightened around the hairbrush she was holding, and she spoke quietly and dangerously. She didn't turn around. "Please get out of my room, Anne. I wish to be alone." Anne started to open the door, but Emily spun around. "One more thing." Anne looked terrified as she was fixed with an icy glare.

"One day, Anne, you're going to realize what class really is. And when you do, you'll realize that it's exactly this—nothing. There isn't one thing, apart from the thickness of a wallet, that separates a man of one class and a man of another. Unless you'd like to take into consideration the industriousness and work ethic that's often found in the lower classes. I've met exactly three upper-class men in my life with that same kind of industriousness. We are **not** better than them; our family is just richer. You remember that." She gave Anne a hard stare. "Now, please finish unpacking."

Emily turned away again. She let out a long, shaky breath when she heard the door close, and tried to focus on anything other than her boiling anger. Then, suddenly, she punched her pillow so hard that a few feathers fluttered out. Imagining that it was Anne's face she had just flattened, it made her feel much calmer. She smoothed her hair, took another deep breath, and walked serenely into the sitting room to help Anne unpack.


End file.
